Since on Thursday night I found out what it was like to be a photographer for a red carpet event, I figured it might be a good idea on Friday to see what happened on the other side of the velvet rope.
There was a Wyclef Jean party at the same venue as the previous night’s Paris Hilton/50 Cent soiree and I was able to parlay my status as Blogger To The Stars to get inside. Even with my hook-up, it was still difficult getting past the throngs of people to gain entry. Once I cleared that hurdle, the only way I could figure out how to get into the actual event was by walking across the red carpet itself – if you’ve ever wondered what these things look like from the other side, see the photo above.
. And just to be clear, no one took my photo.
Once inside I was amazed by how big the venue was and how over-priced the drinks were ($8 for a beer? What is this, Fenway?) It was also very crowded, and once again I got shoved everywhere I went. Luckily, tomorrow is the Super Bowl, where I’m sure over-crowding won’t be an issue.
Like Dante’s Inferno, there were different sections depending on what kind of person you were. Your garden variety party-goers were in the back, fenced in away from the front section of the stage. Your high-rollers were in various VIP pavilions set up on the sides. There was another VIP section right in front of the stage, and (since this was a red carpet event) there was presumably a section where the real VIP’s were located. I was able to get into the VIP sections and I saw no celebs, which leads me to one of three conclusions. Either the celebs did what I heard Terrell Owens had done the night previously, and walked the red carpet, gotten his picture snapped, and then immediately hopped into the Terrell OwensMobile and jetted away. Or, and I think this is more likely, there is a whole other room where the celebrities party. Which means that if you pay big bucks for the chance to party with a celebrity then what that actually means is that you’re so sequestered from them that they’re probably not even breathing the same smoke-filled air as you. Or, maybe the celebrities in the VIP section were not the sorts of celebrities I would recognize.
I have no clue where those who bear false witness were located.
In the VIP Pavillion, there were free drinks and sushi (sushi? In the desert?) and I managed to stake out a pretty good section of real estate with a good view of the stage. I didn’t have any of the free drinks, since I wanted to remember the entire evening for blogging purposes.
Here is a self-portrait, taken once Wyclef Jean took the stage. I know, I know. It’s not physically possible for a human being to be having as much fun as I appear to be having in this photo.
Wyclef’s set mainly seemed to consist of him running around the stage, and screaming “PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIIIIIIIIIIR!!!!” while a d.j. played records in the background. The show began with the House of Pain song “Jump Around”, while Wyclef shouted over it, and the crowd threw their hands in the air, and then occasionally Wyclef would switch things up and ask the crowd to do something called “Bouncing.” This was all way more entertaining than I am making it sound in this blog – he was a really dynamic performer.
The weirdest moment of the show for me was when Wyclef stopped the show to jump off-stage and accost a forty or fifty-year-old guy for sitting down during the set. This reminded me of the time in high school my friend Tim dragged me to a ska concert (he liked ska, and I did not) and the singer of the ska band yelled curse words at me between songs for standing in the back and sulking (see self-portrait above for reference.)
My problem with what Wyclef did was this: If you pay money (I know I didn’t pay to get into Wyclef, but hear me out) to see a musical performance, why is it incumbent upon you to dance or get excited? If I’m not feeling it, is that my fault? Can’t I have my own opinion? I bet they all “Bounce” in communist countries, but this is America, baby!
Other highlights: Wyclef calling about thirty ladies on stage to dance with him, but setting a weight limit. An extended conga drum solo. A truly awful rendition of “The Star-Spangled Banner” on guitar, Jimi Hendrix-style.
After the performance, the party was still going on, but I thought it was time to leave. I didn’t take the red carpet to exit, I found a way out in the back.
Kevin
P.S. – I don’t want to make it seem like I just go to musical performances and just stand around and sulk. That’s totally not true – I like nothing more than to see a show and get well and truly rocked. This past year I completely lost it at the Pipettes, The Arcade Fire, Bruce Springsteen, Neko Case, Laura Cantrell, M.I.A., Kool Keith, and still more that are not immediately popping into my head. Sometimes you just don’t feel it.
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